Spring Flowers

I know I promised you photos of my new gown and fish (how often do you get to say that???), but I havn't got round to taking them yet. I will also be writing shortly on the appalling lack of proper etiquite in English bowling alleys, but I've been too busy. In the meantime you may amuse yourselves with these images I snapped around campus in the lovely spring sunshine.

Pink hyacinth in front of the cathedral:

A hillside covered in wild primrose:

A magnolia tree and daffodils behind the Russian Studies department:

Magnolia stellata somewhere on campus:

Flowering quince somewhere on campus:

Yet another perfect weekend

Friday night. Another black tie ball. This was a Christmas thing with the Pirate's work people. As is every evening with him, it was lovely. Not because the food was great, or because the bar was free, or because my date is better looking than 007 himself, but because I got to spend it with the most wonderful man on Earth. When we danced he held me just like he did on our first date, way back when, and I'm as sure now as I was that night that his are the only arms I ever want around me. But for all that, the best part wasn't the dancing or the wine or the things he whispered to me under the mirror ball. It was his boss.

I was sat across from his boss during dinner. He rememberd me from the only other time we'd met, at the Summer Ball. (Damnit, I knew I should have worn a different dress). He said all the usual small-talk stuff (nice to see you again, you look lovely, etc.), and then he said something that really stunned me. He said, "I'm sorry I had to send your man away. I know you two had only just met, and then I took him away for 3 months. It's a hard thing to love a pirate. I'm sorry. I wish I didn't have to do it." I got rather choked up. It was nice to know that his boss is so humane and sensitive to the needs of his employees and their families, but it was also a chilling reminder that this fall will not be the last time he's sent out. It is indeed a hard thing to fall in love with a pirate.

Saturday, after a long and lazy lie-in, we decided to drive down to Salisbury. I'd never seen the cathedral there, and I'd always wanted to. We got in the car, put on Classic FM, and hit the road, winding our way through country lanes and taking ever long and scenic detour we could find. The cathdral is stunning, the most beautiful I've yet seen. (Probably because it's one of the few that was built in a relatively short period of time and all to one master plan, unlike most other cathedrals which took 600+ years to complete and are a patchwork hodgepodge of architectural fads.)

We wandered the isles and transepts, reading enscriptions on various tombstones, staring in awe at the medieval stained glass windows. We stood under the pillars supporting the spire (tallest in England) and saw how they've bowed with the years. We went to the chapter house and spent 20 minutes staring at one of the only 4 (and most perfectly preserved) surviving original copies of the Magna Carta. Magnificent!

We wanted to stay for the candlelight Advent procession, but it didn't begin until 7 pm, so we left and had an early dinner in a fantastic Italian restaurant (my red pesto Angus beef burger was scrumptious), and then wandered around the old city of Salisbury, poking around the shops and markets until they began to close up for the evening. And I caught him looking in a few jewelers' windows.

Then time to go home, stop in Tesco's on the way to pick up some groceries, and toddle back. After all the glitz and glamor of the past couple weekends it was so nice to do plain, normal things. To go grocery shopping, come home and fold the laundry, cook together. I enjoy the fancy parties, the posh restaurants, but what I love most is to do all the normal things in life, only do them with him.

I'm so stupidly in love. If he doesn't propose soon I swear my head will explode.

Today I spent the afternoon marking my students' essays. Red Pen of DEATH. Oh yeah.

And if you want to see a photo of Prince Harry with a boner, click here. Courtesy of Frobisher.

Camping, Hairy-style; UPDATED

Hi, kids! Do you want to know all about my camping trip? Do you? Of course you do!*

Well, aside from the larengytis and food poisoning, it was grr-eat! (Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?)

Friday at work I had a bit of a throat tickle, but I wasn't about to let that bother me, so I didn't say anything.**

I make it sound like I didn't have a good time. Actually, it was wonderful. We left on Friday afternoon after I got out of work, car loaded up boot, backseat, and roofrack. (You would not believe the amount of crap 2 people need to survive for 2 nights in the middle of civilisation.) We headed west, drove right off the end of the M4, and kept going 'til we could go no further without falling into the ocean. We stopped in St. David's, Wales, and got a campsite right on the ocean, on top of a cliff, where we fell asleep listening to the waves crash on the rocks.

This is the view from our tent on Friday evening, after we had dinner. We sat outside dinking tea and watched the mist roll in from the sea. I felt inspired to recite much poetry by E.A. Poe. These things happen.

Friday night I went to bed (by bed I mean air mattress, double size, that I had to inflate by hand, and by 'hand' I mean by 'mouth.' Yeah, that inspired a few wise cracks from the other half) with a scatchy throat. Saturday I woke up unable to utter a syllable. I had completely lost my voice.

After establishing that there was nothing seriously wrong with me, ie my i didn't have a fever, wasn't coughing, my head wasn't congested, i wasn't achy or run-down, and I felt completely fine save my inability to communicate vocally, Hairy proceeded to make all the obligatory cracks about the girlfriend not being able to nag, finally some peace and quiet, etc. It was rather comical. So I beat him soundly. Goddamnit my mom used to make those same cracks when i was a kid. Grrr.

But I felt fine, so we drove into town (St. David's, famous for being the only town in Wales that does not have a "y" in its name, and consists of a hitching post, rain barrel, general store, cathedral, and 3 chartered boat companies) to see what there is to see. We visited the cathedral, booked a boat cruise for the following morning and did a bit of wandering in St. David's and other tiny hamlets in the area. After we ate lunch in a pretty little outdoor cafe' by a river somewhere in a town called Llanyyclydybryyyy-y-bont (the thing is, I'm trying to take the piss, but that still looks entirely probable as a Welsh name, good lord), we went for a hike along the costal path, which is a couple hundred miles through National Park. It's gorgeous.

Sunshine, coastal breezes, birds (yep, i'm a birdwatcher. The binocs never left my neck, and though I know it annoyed the Hairy Man when I would stop and spend 10 minutes flipping though my book in an attempt to figure out what the hell had just flown past me, he never said a word, bless), and lovely company. We stopped for a break on top of a high, rocky, isolated promontory, off the main path. It was pleasant and secluded, there was a large patch of soft grass, no one but the crashing waves and the gulls...

And do you know what happened next? You think you do. NOTHING. NADA. ZIP. See, we aren't the viagarad bunny nymphos you take us for. Ha!

That evening Hairy wanted to do a bit of kayak-surfing, so we drove to a nearby beach that is famous for its good surf. I took my pod and planned to do a bit of Chariots-of-Fire style jogging on the beach while the Man took to the waves. But alas, there was no surf at all. The water was completely flat.
So we held hands and walked along the beach in the evening light. Can you believe it? We walked on the beach at sunset, holding hands! Oh the CHEESE! The SMALTZ! Can we say "Hallmark moment?" Gag me with a game show first date formula. You know I loved it. He doesn't think he's romantic at all, but that makes it even cuter.

Are you ready to hurl yet? Good.

But wait, there's more!

For dinner we (that's the Royal "we," meaning Hairy) cooked curry. With home made popadums. While camping. You should have seen the looks on the other campers' faces. That's the only reason he does it. We'd both be perfectly happy with sausages and beans, but it's just too much fun to show off. Mango chutney and everything. The works. Hehehe.

Sunday morning it was up early, stuff some tea and welsh cakes in the gob, and be off for...

a whale-watching cruise! We figured if we were in Wales, we should fucking see some whales, right? Right.
We didn't see any whales, but we did hook up with a pod of Atlantic dolphins, about 30-strong. They were very playful and sociable. We saw a couple porpoises, too, but they didn't give a shit. Didn't even stop to say "hello." Very rude, porpoises. Dolphins, on the other hand, are the picture of charismatic megafauna. They see a big inflatable raft with a dozen goofy mamals in oragnge vests and binoculars and go (in, Ellen Degeneres's voice) "Hey! Tourists! Hey, everyone - look! There's tourists over here!" And over they all come, flipping and splashing and smiling as only dolphins can.
They really do. They're just that cool.

We also saw a ton of sea birds. I thought this was great. We visited a nesting colony of gannets. That's the gannets, there. That's not snow on that island, that's birds. And bird crap. The entire island is white from bird crap. It really was like walking into the pages of a National Geographic magazine. Besides gannets we saw Manx shearwaters, Green cormorants (also known as Shags), Great black-backed gulls (agressive predators, G b-b gulls have been known to fly off with Yorkshire terriers, no shit), Razorbills and Guillemots, both members of the Auk family, and... (are you ready for this?)... POOFINS! Well, Puffins, technically, but I call them Poofins. They're very stoopid. They look cute enough bobbing around on the water and you think "aww, how cute." But then they try to fly, and all you can do is laugh. I'm serious.
It's like wathing the lovechild of a penguin and a hummingbird. They have these fat little bodies and small wings which they therefore have to beat really really really really really really fast in order to stay aloft. It's not possible to watch one without sniggering. They're just inherently funny. Like pengins and platapi, they have no dignity whatsover. Actually, they look rather a lot like this:
Clearly my boy Wiley knows his puffins. Poofins. Whatev.

And then it was time to pack up camp and come home. (By this time I had regained some of my voice, and sounded like a two-pack-a-dayer. Or like one of Marge's sisters. You know the sound.) So we came home, got into Brizzle, unpacked the car, went to fix dinner, and pulled an Old Mother Hubbard. Yep, the cupboard was bare. So we went to the pub. And that was where I got the food poisoning. (You'd forgotten about that, hadn't you?) I think it was the fried mushrooms. That's my punishment for not being healthy. I never should have succombed to the temptation of beer-battered, deep-fried happiness. Those puppies lubed up my G.I. tract and shot right out the other side. Oh, yeah. Mind, it took a few hours for the works to get under way, during which time we had totally amazing sex, so that was ok. 2 minutes after he fell asleep I ran for the loo and went 12 rounds with the porcelian god. I lost. The man was very, very sweet about the whole thing. He manages to be tender and comforting without condescending, something I have difficulty with myself. So full points for looking after me.

And then I woke up (not really, i didn't get much sleep) and then it was monday. Land the rocket, climb down to earth, back to reality, Houston we have a job to do and all that jazz. So that's it. There you go.

OMG I can't believe I forgot to post the uber-cute picture of the two of us at the cathedral!!! Aahhh! Here it is: (click for full size)
Are we cute, or what?


*egomaniac: n. someone who believes that everyone around them actually gives a shit.

**genius: n. someone who can see the locomotive coming, but likes the view from the tracks so well that she refuses to move. see also "deer in headlights," "osterich with head in ass," and "La la la la la la I can't heeeeear yooooou!"

To erg is human...

... to row, divine!










(this, by the way, is erging. See how evil it is?)



Hendrix and Patroclus, consider yourselves tagged. (Actually, HC, I seriously considered tagging you anyway because I'm sure you have loads of terrific music to share, but I know how busy at work you are and I didn't want to be a nuissance. I can't wait to read your 20 tracks.)



and now, the Hairy Update:

Spent the weekend with the Hairy Man, and what a lovely weekend it was. Saturday we went to see Transamerica at the Watershed (which is a teriffic film, by the way), and then he took me back to his and fixed us a curry for dinner. Damn that man can cook!

Sunday was the best, thought. He took me out for drive in the Somerset countryside. He wouldn't tell me where we were going, which was fine because I love surprises. First we drove through Cheddar gorge, which was spectacular. The weather was shit and we weren't dressed for hiking, but he promised to bring me back later in the spring and do a day hike. Then becuause, as he put it, "I know you're into all that medieval stuff, so I thought you might enjoy this," he drove me over to Wells to visit the cathedral there. You're darn tootin' I enjoyed it!

(Did you know that the cathedral at Wells is home to the second oldest working clock in the entire world? It's SO COOL. It's over 600 years old. On the hour a pair of wooden jousting knights come out of the clock and do a little joust, and a wooden jester rings a chime on the hour and clicks his heels on the quarter-hour. It's totally charming!)

It was a drippy, foggy, rainy afternoon, and we spent about 5 hours whizzing around the countryside, enjoying the views and vistas and (most of all) the company. Finally we stopped at the grocery store on the way home (he actually held my hand as we wandered around tesco's) and got fixin's for dinner. He made a pork roast with parsnips and swede and sprouts and apple sauce. De-lish!

(If I didn't know better, I'd think he was seriously trying to court me.)